Having already declared to himself
His glorious intentions for the week,
He dismisses the wasted day
As a mere trifle,
And with the wave of a hand—
Not counting it as a lost seventh part
Of a heavenly treasure,
But rather twistedly,
As if its murder were somehow a proper and fitting
Sacrifice to the honor of the whole.
And I should unapologetically
Think the man insane
Even if he were me.
